


gnawing doubt

by onceuponamoon



Series: abo jt/ebs [8]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nursing, Postpartum Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: Since day one, parenthood has been nothing like what John had expected -- which is exactly what his mother had told him would happen.





	gnawing doubt

**Author's Note:**

> lmfao apparently i love to make myself sad.

**January 2021**

 

Since day one, parenthood has been nothing like what John had expected -- which is exactly what his mother had told him would happen. Luckily for John, she’s benevolent enough to fly in from Toronto once Jordan’s stable enough to leave the house for an away game to D.C. with the team and John’s immediately, immensely grateful for the help. John’s still sore from his surgery and everything feels like a little too much, so when she lets herself in, luggage and all, he nearly collapses into tears just from smelling her scent.

“Oh, _bąk_ ,” she says, letting the bags drop to the foyer floor to gather John into her arms. She lets him scent, because he absolutely can’t help the way he turns his face into her neck even though he has to bend in a way that tugs at the undissolved stitches in his belly. 

“Mama,” he says --

And then one of the babies starts crying, which sparks the other two into echoing shrill little warbles. 

He can hear his phone ringing in the other room and the TV is still playing highlights of the Pens and Preds game.

John’s ready to lose his mind.

She takes one look at him and says, “Why don’t you introduce me to my grandbabies, hmm? Once they’re comfortable, you can take your time with a shower and we’ll figure out something to eat. Sound good?”

He nods, glad -- especially now -- that she’ll always be his alpha. 

John leads her into the nursery, shows her to the crib with the t-shirt-lined nest laid inside of it that contains Matias, Nico, and Adela. Nico seems to be the instigator, if his red, pinched expression is any indication. They’re still too young to have presented dynamics yet and they don’t smell like anything but _babies_ , but John has an inkling that Nico’s going to be an omega even if he’s unsure about the other two.

No matter how he settles them in their nest, they always seem to end up with Nico in the middle with the older two surrounding him.

“Oh, I remember _that_ ,” Mom says softly. She reaches up and squeezes just briefly at the back of John’s neck, calming more than controlling. “Your baby sisters would just gravitate towards you, no matter where I put you. Now who’s who?”

John picks up Matty first -- because if he picks up Nico then the other two will start shrieking at the top of their lungs rather than this squalling that they’re doing -- with his hands secure beneath his little arms. He weighs the most out of all three of them, but it still feels like practically nothing. With as heavy as he felt growing them, he doesn’t really understand how they’re still so small.

“This is Matias,” John says, transferring him to his mother’s arms. She, naturally, lets him scent her neck and --

“Oh,” she says, laughing. “This one’s hungry.”

He’s rooting, pursing his lips and making increasingly frustrated noises into her neck.

John sighs. He’s -- he’s not really producing much and Matty’s hungry _all the time_ , but feeding them formula makes his gut twist and --

“ _Synek_ ,” she says, pulling him from those thoughts with her soft, affectionate tone. “Who’s the omega?”

Though it makes him bristle a little bit, because nothing’s official until they hear some purrs or growls, John lifts Nico and introduces him to his mother, rocking him until he calms enough to be able to scent. Meanwhile, Addie’s shrieking, alone in the nest and very upset about it. So, John tucks Nico into his mother’s other arm to let him fully scent and then picks up his baby girl. 

“Hey, Addie-girl,” John croons, “You’re okay. They’re right there.” 

She starts to quiet as soon as her face is pressed into John’s neck and -- then she’s rooting too.

John feels his eyes start to prick at the corners. He clears his throat. He says, “I think I need to feed them,” and it doesn’t come out as wobbly as it feels, which is good.

Mom nods. “Just show me where the formula is and you can help me get set up.”

He sets her up on the couch with one of his nursing pillows and Matty and Nico, heads into the kitchen to get some bottles heated while keeping Adela tucked up into his neck, her tiny little diapered bottom fitting snugly in the palm of his hand. She mouths wetly at his throat, probably giving herself stubble burn, while he finishes making the two bottles and then heads back into the living room. He hands the two bottles to his mom, grabs his spare nursing pillow and tears his shirt over his head so that Addie will stop fussing.

His mom doesn’t bat an eye at her son’s hairless, puffy chest, too enraptured by the way Matty’s sucking down his bottle and Nico’s blinking up at her, and honestly John’s too exhausted to be self-conscious.

Adela finally latches and John sighs in relief, wiping at his cheeks. 

He’s a fucking mess.

All they do is eat, sleep, poop, and cry. It shouldn’t be harder than a playoff run, but at least then, John’s able to tag someone else in for a line change. That’s definitely not the case here.

“Your father sent some of his clothes, by the way,” Mom says. “He’s mad he couldn’t be here with me to help you and Jordan; I think he’s more excited about being a grandpa than he was the first time he took you skating, Johnny.”

She keeps rambling on, talking about his dad and his sisters and then about how, “Matty’s going to be huge, _synek_ , look at the size of those little feet! And he sucked down his bottle already? I bet you he’s gaining more than just an ounce a day,” which is comforting. She coos over Nico who just keeps slowly drinking his formula and blinking at her like he could fall back asleep at any second. 

John shifts Adela to his left nipple, using his discarded shirt to clean the little dribbles of milk from the right. The pressure’s waning, finally, but not the soreness. Still, John feels a little bit less like he’s on the cusp of a psychotic break.

“I remember that feeling.”

When John looks over, his mom’s smiling sympathetically.

“You have some lanolin, right?”

John wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “I don’t...I know it’s dumb, but honestly that grossed me out.”

His mother rolls her eyes. “There are alternatives, John,” she says, “I’m sure you can find one that’s safe for both you and your babies.”

And, yeah, he could, but just thinking about trying to get all of the babies dressed and out the door has his breath coming a little bit too quickly -- at least until he remembers that online shopping is a thing. God, it’s like pregnancy-brain doesn’t end when the actual pregnancy does. So, while Addie’s still sleepily nursing, John reaches for his phone sitting on the end table and unceremoniously types in “nipple cream breastfeeding” on Google.

The good thing is that there are a couple of all natural alternatives and he immediately buys about thirty of them, because he absolutely does not have the mental capacity to read ingredients or make informed decisions right now.

About five minutes later, once John’s tugged back on a shirt and warmed up another ounce of formula for Mom to feed Matty, Jordan texts, “ _baby, why didn’t you tell me your nipples were sore_ ” with the emoji that’s frowning the biggest. John rolls his eyes, but finds a small, fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

And then he starts crying.

Like actually _actively_ crying because his chest hurts and he misses his alpha and _his mom is here_. He loves them all so much, but he just -- he just wants to sleep for a week.

He wants _Jordan_.

“Oh, _honey_ ,” Mom says.

There’s a bit of maneuvering -- at least as much as John can tell, because he’s definitely hyperventilating a little bit and too many tears cloud his vision. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” he says, and then, “I’m sorry,” even though he knows he doesn’t really have a reason to be. But then his mom is right there, taking a whimpering Addie out of his arms and -- that makes John cry harder for a second but then it’s -- it’s okay, because she’s back and she’s coaxing him into lying down, pillowing his head on her leg so she can card his hair through her fingers.

And it’s the same thing she’d done when he was a boy, when he came home from hockey practice with venomous words ringing between his ears and a deep, unsettling shame in his guts.

John cries himself out and she lets him, petting him until he’s just leaking tears but no longer sobbing.

He feels stupid.

Sitting upright, John feels a little bit hungover from the crying. He scrubs at his eyes and then mutters, again, “Sorry.”

His mom clucks her tongue, says, “You have nothing to be sorry about, _synek_. Your hormones are all over the place right now; it’s normal, honey.” She swipes her thumbs at the corners of his eyes and leans into press a kiss to his forehead.

John takes a shuddery breath and then asks, “Where’d they go?”

“They’re in their nest,” she says, reaching for and holding out the iPad before panic sets in. “Do they always do this? They’re so _precious_ , Johnny. Look at these little angels you made.”

Sure enough, they’re bundled together and sleeping; Nico’s snuggled tightly between his siblings with Matty reaching over him to clutch at Addie’s wrist.

John sniffs and nods. “Jordan put them like that for their newborn shoot last week. Now they just do it by themselves.”

His mom coos at the screen and then eventually orders John into taking a shower, claiming that he’ll feel a little more stable once he’s clean. 

(He does.) 

And then, once he’s out and dressed and the triplets are actually still asleep, he’s able to sit with his mom and eat a salad chock full of spinach and garlic and fenugreek microgreens -- all things his doctor said would boost his milk supply, so he feels even better knowing that he’s doing something to make himself… _be_ better at this whole parenting thing.

But then he feels lonely again, guilty about it because his mom is right there, and goes to sit in the nursery, just watching and waiting for the triplets to wake up.

 

By the time it’s seven, and Jordan’s about to head onto the ice, John and his mom get the babies dressed in little Eberle onesies to watch their daddy try to murder some Caps on their home ice. 

And, god, just seeing Jordan under the lights as the anthem drones on -- John’s heart clenches.

It’s good to see that he’s okay, that he’s whole and -- antsier than usual, shifting from skate to skate as if the anthem can’t be done quickly enough.

And then it’s puck drop and Jordan just -- he tears out into the offensive zone once Barzy gets possession, holds it, passes it straight to him and he rips it in, straight past Holtby within thirty seconds. It’s fucking _insane_ and gorgeous and -- Jordan kisses his fist and points it up, dedicating it to John and the babies and being a new dad and -- 

John maybe leaks a few tears again, but he’s also cheering, bouncing Nico with it and then patting his back when he fusses.

Mom’s sitting on the floor with Addie and Matty, bussing kisses onto their round little bellies and laughing when their breathing patterns change, like they want to laugh but can’t quite figure out how it works just yet. She’s giving them a play-by-play on the game and tickling them and then when first intermission rolls around, she’s more than happy to feed them bottles of formula since it’s Nico’s turn to be nursed.

John’s phone chirps, and it’s a message from Jordan that says, “ _quick send me a pic of the babies_ ,” so John snaps one of his mom feeding Addie and Matty. Jordan sends back a heart emoji and then, “ _wait where’s nico_ ,” so then John has to snap a selfie of Nico suckling at his chest which is -- it’s embarrassing, but it’s not like Jordan’s going to go around showing it to people.

All he gets in reply to that is a heart-eyes emoji.

John sighs, smiling, and returns his attention to the commentators gushing about Jordan’s goal.

 

The boys win it, unsurprisingly, and manage to help Jordan get a hatty -- one goal for each of his babies, he says to the reporters after the game, “Just trying to make my captain proud,” -- and then he’s probably showering, which is fine, because John’s busy getting the babies into fresh diapers and back into the nest, wishing Mom a goodnight, but --

John’s phone rings and it’s Jordan.

“ _Alpha_ ,” John picks up, immediately embarrassed at how breathy his voice comes out. “Hey.”

Jordan says, “ _Hi, sweetheart. Did you watch the game?_ ”

“First star,” John says, pride seeping through, “Of course I watched. Well, most of it. Matty had a minor blow-out, so Mom watched with the other two while I got him cleaned up.”

“ _God_ ,” Jordan says, “ _I can’t wait to see them. I bet they got bigger. Can you send me another picture?_ ”

And, indulging his alpha, John does just that, snapping a picture of them huddled together in the nest, surrounded by worn shirts with a small stuffed Sparky in the corner. 

“ _I was right_ ,” he says, “ _They got bigger. God, look at Matty. He could eat them._ ”

John snorts. “He probably would, if we let him. Have to keep an eye on that.”

“ _How are the other two? Did they do anything new today? Any problems with gas?_ ”

Throat going tight, John shakes his head -- and then remembers that this is a phone call, not FaceTime, and Jordan can’t see him, so he says, “Nope,” and it comes out a little wobbly. “They’re perfect.”

Jordan hears it, of course, and immediately makes a soft, soothing noise. “ _What about you, baby? Are you okay?_ ” 

Again, John shakes his head and his eyes start to prick at the corners and -- his breath hitches.

“ _Johnny_ ,” Jordan says. It’s firm but not authoritative, not quite pushing yet. “ _Babe, you’ve gotta talk to me. I can’t be there for -- god, like twelve more hours, so -- please, just. Tell me what’s wrong._ ”

Sitting there, alone in his bed with the babies on the other side of the wall, John feels like he’s losing it again, and this time his alpha’s sort of there to hear it. “I don’t know,” John admits, trying to will away the useless tears. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me -- Mom keeps saying this is normal, that my hormones are just out of whack. This doesn’t feel fucking normal.”

Jordan makes a shaky sound, forcing out a breath. “ _It’s -- I’m sorry you’re going through this and I’m not there to hold you. I just. I -- do you think it’s maybe postpartum depression?_ ”

It…

Could be?

Hearing the words definitely makes something click into place, but John didn’t think -- if his mom’s saying this happened to her, that it’s normal, then…

“I don’t know,” John answers honestly.

“ _We can definitely look into it_ ,” Jordan says, resolute. “ _We can talk to Dr. Karadjuzovic tomorrow when I get back._ ” And he can probably hear John’s hesitation all the way from D.C., because he says, “ _She already said she doesn’t care if it’s Sunday, Johnny. We’ll give her a call. This isn’t -- this is important._ ”

John nods, breathing a little easier because -- because his alpha’s made a choice. “You’re right.”

“ _You know,_ ” Jordan says, “ _Sometimes -- definitely not often -- but_ sometimes, _I do have good ideas._ ”

Creaking out a laugh, John rolls onto his side and shoves his nose into Jordan’s pillow. They keep talking through Jordan’s bus ride back to the hotel, through John needing to get up to feed the triplets again, through Jordan stripping off his gameday suit and getting in between scratchy hotel sheets, grumbling until John reminds him to pull out the worn onesies and t-shirts that he’d packed. 

At some point, John must doze off, because he wakes a few hours later to a dead phone and squalling babies. He goes to plug it in and then rushes into the nursery, immediately able to scent the dirty diapers. In a daze, he lifts Addie out first, changes her, gets her snuggled back into her spot before he repeats the process with Nico and then Matty.

But Matty’s hungry -- because he’s _always hungry_ \-- so John sits in the recliner and lifts his shirt.

In the nest, Nico and Addie coo and John reaches between the bars to play with their toes. Both of their feet fit in his palm and John, for a second, relishes in it. He knows -- because his mom has told him -- that babies grow quickly.

John pulls Matty free once the pressure in his chest subsides, otherwise Matty would be happy to nurse throughout the night. He only fusses a little, face screwing up until John shushes him, nuzzles against his soft little cheek before burping him.

Settled back into the nest, Matty snuggles into Nico’s side and, sure enough, reaches over to hold onto Addie too. Within minutes -- minutes that John spends running his fingers over their soft, downy hair -- they’re soothed back to sleep.

John yawns.

Somehow, he manages to make it back to bed and in between the covers.

 

He awakens confused at just how well-rested he feels and immediately sits up in a panic -- but then he can hear the clattering of a pan on the stove and his mother singing an off-tune nonsense song. 

Momentarily ignoring the press of his bladder, John rolls to the side of the bed and presses the home button on his phone: it’s half past nine. He hasn’t slept this late since well before the triplets were born.

John heads downstairs afterwards and -- from the way his mom’s looking at him, he must have crazy eyes.

“I got them up and fed them some formula at seven, but I’m sure little Matias is hungry again already,” she says, immediately placating. “I think they like the way the pancakes smell, _bąk_.” She turns to make a silly face at them where they’re flailing in the bassinet. “Kinda like your daddy, huh?”

Jordan would _die_ hearing his scent’s being compared to pancakes.

John texts it to him immediately.

And gets, “ _!!!!!!! i am not a pancake_ ” in response followed by, “ _just landed, gonna zoom home, love you_ ” which makes John’s heart thump wildly against his ribs. One of them -- Addie, he thinks -- shrieks out a noise and then -- John’s shushing her, drawing her up and out of the bassinet until she can scent his throat.

“Jordan just got to JFK,” he says, trying not to sound as breathlessly excited as he feels. He rocks Addie a little, kisses at her cheek and scents her chin, faintly annoyed at the artificial smell of formula on her breath. 

“Oh, good,” Mom says, pouring another round of batter into the pan. “I already doubled up the recipe so there should be enough for him. Think he wants some bananas in his?”

John nods. “Can I have some in mine too?”

Mom, of course, indulges him and makes a mountain of pancakes that John eats more than his fair share of, shrugging when he goes back for thirds and fourths. He’ll eat his dried apricots later and make a smoothie for his milk production, but he’s going to enjoy this particular brand of mothering while it lasts. 

Jordan comes in just as she’s turning off the burner, last pancakes buttered and plated. 

John doesn’t leap out of his chair, or anything quite so dramatic, but he does burst into tears when Jordan comes into view, grinning widely at his family as he unceremoniously drops his overnight bag onto the tile.

There are greetings, warm scentings and all of that, but John can’t really focus on anything more than the fact that his alpha is _here_. 

He’s _back_.

After scenting each of the babies, Jordan has no shame about saying, “Hi, pumpkin,” in a low voice that -- mostly just makes John cry a little harder for how much he loves it. He swipes at John’s tears and presses kiss after kiss to John’s cheeks, nuzzling into his bond-bite in a promise for later, when John’s mom isn’t ten steps away.

“Johnny told me you wouldn’t mind banana pancakes,” Mom says, and then, “Do you want syrup? Ooh, or I could whip up a little dark chocolate ganache if you want.”

John makes a hurt noise, but it’s lost over the din of the babies crying for attention.

But now, there’s an adult each for the babies and so they make quick work of getting them fed, burped, and into fresh diapers. John’s nipples are still aching, but he feels -- now that Jordan’s finally home -- like it’s not the end of the world. His alpha will take care of him and he’ll take care of the babies and --

Mom hums, breaking John free from his thoughts.

“I think I’m gonna pass on the ganache,” Jordan says, “I think these guys all need to be scented for a bit, if you don’t mind. We’ll probably nap for a bit, too, so no need to worry if you don’t see us before lunch time.”

It’s a nice, considerate brand of alpha dominance, and John falls a little bit more in love with his husband.

“Oh, of course,” Mom says. “Want me to bring one of them to the nest?”

Jordan shakes his head, clearly feeling a little territorial, unsettled at having another alpha in his home and space and handling his children for as much as he’d never admit it. “I think we can handle it. Thanks, though, Barbara.”

“Alright,” she says, “You boys let me know if you need anything.”

“We will,” John answers, “Thanks, mom.”

The second she leaves and her footsteps creak all the way downstairs, John takes a long, shaky breath and melts into Jordan’s arms. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even know if there are words for how he feels right now, but with the way Jordan clutches right back, John doesn’t think he needs them.

Nico coos and when John looks into the crib, he’s mouthing at Matty’s arm while Addie’s flailing an arm out and yawning hugely.

“Bed?” Jordan asks softly.

John nods. 

He grabs Addie and shuffles into the bedroom, settling her in the center for the few moments it takes him to round the bed and tuck himself next to her. Jordan brings in first Nico and then a wailing Matty who’s mad about being left alone for all of thirty seconds. He shuts the door behind himself with his foot and then sets Matty down, crowding in close until he and John both create a barrier better than any faux nest money could buy.

Jordan’s still in his suit, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in and scenting the babies, scenting John, trying to basically smother them in his scent -- at least until he growls, too frustrated by his clothes, and gets out of bed to quickly strip them off. He makes a mellowed noise and then -- John purrs, for the first time in what feels like days.

The babies immediately go silent, stilling within moments and craning to listen raptly as John soothes them -- and himself, if he’s being honest.

“There’s nothing better than this,” Jordan says quietly, using a single finger to smooth back Matty’s dark little whorls of hair as he smiles softly at John. “You guys smell so good.”

John purrs louder, unable to help himself, finally feeling some semblance of stable.

“Sometimes, I wish I could purr for you, too, Johnny. Just so you’d know what it feels like,” Jordan says. His expression is soft, gentle, but his eyes are sad. “I wish I could make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

John’s purrs abruptly cut off, but -- luckily, the babies have already been lulled to sleep. He tries not to tear up, fails, and then frowns when Jordan does.

“Baby,” is all he says.

Sighing, John leans in and kisses the top of Addie’s head, reaching to hold Jordan’s wrist where it lays over Addie’s belly. “This is hard,” John says, voice watery.

Jordan nods. “I know. I honestly -- you know I’m proud of you, right? The fact that you did this. That you’re doing it and feel like shit, but you’re still doing such a good job. That’s amazing, you know?”

John’s throat feels too tight to answer, so he nods. He clears it a few times.

“You wanna tell me about how you’ve been feeling?”

Again, John sighs. Mostly, because he can’t really catch his breath -- not when it feels like there’s a weight there that, honestly, probably has nothing to do with the pressure in his chest. It’s not just because of the nursing. 

“Overwhelmed, for the most part,” John eventually answers. “Exhausted. Like I’m --” He clears his throat again. “I’m worried, like, all the time. That I’m not doing a good job. That I’m not scenting them enough, or giving them too much formula instead of nursing them, or -- it’s just a million little things, all day long, but...” He takes a deep breath, admits, “It’s better, when you’re here.”

He doesn’t want to keep Jordan from hockey any longer. He doesn’t want to be the reason for holding him back, especially not when they’ve got actual _promise_ in this team, success on the horizon.

“I…” Jordan clears his throat. He’s always been the more emotional of them, but he’s strong -- still so strong. “I know that took a lot of courage to admit. And I’m proud of you.” He turns his hand over, twines their fingers together and lifts them so that he can press a kiss to John’s knuckles. “Thank you for telling me, Johnny.”

Jordan smells so sincere, so proud and full of love that John -- against the gnawing doubt in the back of his mind -- believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to send me some [prompts](http://onceuponamoonfic.tumblr.com)!!!! comments and kudos are always welcome, y'all


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